


Impossible

by Kennel_Boy



Series: Alive Is All You Get [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 21:00:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20103535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kennel_Boy/pseuds/Kennel_Boy
Summary: By some miracle, Josh Faraday survived the fight for Rose Creek. But survival comes with its own complications, few of which he's handling with any particular grace.





	Impossible

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up - that warning for violence is for a fairly graphic illustration of facial scarring. Proceed with caution.

Joshua Faraday had been labeled “impossible” more than once. Given the life he’d lead, it was far from the worst thing he’d ever been called, but it hadn’t ever been anything close to a compliment.

These days, though, it was an altogether different story. Yes, sir, he had managed all kinds of mind-boggling impossibility in the last few months. It was impossible that he’d survived his headlong charge against a Gatling gun, not to mention the explosion that had taken the damned thing out. Equally impossible that he’d held out against the blood loss before Vasquez’s search party had hauled what was left of him back to the tender care of the town doc, and all the more impressive with the head start that bullet in his gut had given him toward exsanguination. The doc had also been sure let him know more than once how impossible it was that he’d dodged the infection that should have surely come from burns, open wounds, and the removal of three bullets. (One was still sitting somewhere in the meat of his chest, safer left where it was.)

Yet here he was, Mary Faraday’s little mutt, impossibly on his feet near half a year later. Well, on his ass at the moment, in The Imperial, the lone saloon a town the size of Rose Creek could support, doing his best to enjoy a whiskey he hadn’t had to pay for. Faraday found he was trying his best to enjoy the little things in life these days. Good whiskey, the fiery sunsets over the mountains, being able to stay abed as long as he pleased with the knowledge that some kind soul would feed him once he got his legs under him and wandered out into the town.

If he let himself linger over the little pleasures in life, it meant he wasn’t thinking about that high, faint whine in his ears that never really went away. If he focused on the pleasant, wood-smoke heat of the whiskey rolling down his throat, he thought less of the drops that escaped when he inevitably tried to close that strip of upper lip he was missing around the rim of the glass. He was at the point where he almost didn’t have to think about how he was holding the glass either; just sometimes when he tried for a grip that required more finger-joints than he had these days and had to fumble quick to keep from sending whatever was in his faulty grip crashing to the floor.

Thing was, though… things weren’t as bad as he’d thought they were going to be, back when he’d been bound up in bandages, out of his head on laudanum and still hurting so bad he’d heave up whatever the doc would manage to get down his throat. He hardly remembered anything of that time, save for the pain. And the nightmares. Same damn one, over and over… propped up in that bed like a goddamn cripple, with stumps for legs and no arms at all. He wasn’t altogether certain, but he thought he’d offered the doc money to shoot him at one point. Couldn’t say for sure, though.

So it had been a peculiar sort of deliverance when the veil had lifted from his senses and he’d been able to see just how much of him was actually left. It would have been a damnable lie to say he was capable of being grateful right then, but that first gutpunch of _relief_ on waking had given him a certain perspective regarding the rest of his long, humiliating convalescence. 

“It could have been worse.”

Not much as philosophies went, but it was something to hold on to.

Concentrating on small pleasures also meant he didn’t have to think about a larger plan, but that wasn’t working so well these days. He needed to think about what he was going to do with himself. He could ride well enough, keep his feet most of the day if he had to. It was time to be moving on, getting somewhere he could stand on his own in the more figurative sense. 

It wasn’t that Faraday had ever had any particular compulsion to work for his keep; he was dead set against it most days, in fact. But this soft life couldn’t last forever. If nothing else, once the gold mine played out, Rose Creek’s odds for long-term survival were slim. In times like that, hospitality and good nature dried up real fast. And on top of that… well, there was something about the town that was getting both familiar and downright uncomfortable. 

It had been a novelty, once he’d finally been able to escape his sickbed, to be able turn up wherever he pleased as a welcome guest. And he’d needed that novelty, the hero’s welcomes, a new table for every meal, every day of the week, as much as he’d needed his small distractions to fill up his head and thoughts. 

Now, though… there was something about those familiar faces setting food and drink in front of him with a smile and gratitude months later that itched worse than a riding on an ass full of chigger bites. ‘Specially when it came to sitting at a widow’s table, or a family with kids to feed…

Faraday finished his whiskey, pushed himself back from the table, and headed for the door. He nodded to Widow Halferd where she was polishing glasses, and caught a glimpse of a stranger’s face in the bar mirror over her shoulder.

It wasn’t anyone he knew. There was a passing resemblance, but that face belonged to someone leaner, more scarred up and far more fearsome than Josh Faraday. That man wasn’t a fast talker or a card sharp, didn’t have the means to be either. He could have been anyone.

Faraday kept walking.

The sun was creeping down behind the mountains, turning the dust in the streets to gold and gleaming off the shop windows with painful brightness. There was an unusual amount of commotion about for it being so late in the day, but Faraday was well-positioned to hear (and spread) all the town gossip, what with his weekly rounds. There was a meeting at the schoolhouse tonight, and he’d been asked more than once if he meant to attend. It was town business, though, which didn’t really make it his business, so he hadn’t made any commitment one way or another.

But then, it wasn’t like he had any other offers for the evening, was it? 

There wasn’t a face in Rose Creek that was unfamiliar to him by this point, but there were some more familiar than others. Goodnight Robicheaux, for one, seated by the door with his silver-headed cane across his lap and Billy Rocks standing at his side. 

Faraday nodded Goodnight’s way. The Cajun had mended up well enough, but he’d been another who’d been a long time healing after the big fight; taking a round of Gatling fire and falling off a church roof wasn’t the kind of thing you walked away from easy. Chisolm, Vasquez and the Indian had been on their way once it had been more or less assured Faraday would live, but Goodnight and Billy had stayed. Goodnight had made it a point to stop by while Faraday had been recovering, and Faraday didn’t mind saying he’d developed a sort of fondness for the man, but they hadn’t seen much of each other since Faraday had found his feet. He was suddenly tempted to ask Goodnight just why he and Billy hadn’t moved on like the others; surely Goodnight had recuperated as much as he was going to by now. Faraday knew the two of them had been holed up in Gavin’s old hotel for a while now, but if they had a plan, they hadn’t shared it anywhere he could get wind of it. If nothing else, he thought he might take a seat and ask Goodnight just how the hell he was dealing with being fixed in one place, looking at the same faces until the familiarity took on a chafing weight of expectation.

Billy shot Faraday a dark-eyed look before he’d taken one step in Goodnight’s direction, and Faraday decided he could seek Goodnight’s advice another time. This wasn’t exactly unusual. Goodnight might not have held a grudge over words that were… well, it had been hasty judgment of Goodnight’s character on his part, anyway. But whatever forgiveness Goodnight had in him held no sway over Billy Rocks, whose demeanor upon seeing Faraday awake and aware again had suggested he’d be more than happy to relieve him of a little more excess flesh. The sour son-of-a-bitch hadn’t softened one bit in the months since, either.

Faraday opted to prop himself up beside the windows on the east wall and take in the proceedings from there. 

There wasn’t all that much to the schoolhouse, a single room with a few desks for the students, a chair and slate up front for schoolmarm Winthrop. It was a mighty small space to be holding a town meeting. But there were a lot of missing faces among the familiar, Faraday noted - no women, no kids. Huh. Yeah, that about made more sense, then. Between the exodus of citizens just before big fight against Bogue’s hired guns, and all those who’d been cut down during, there were just about enough menfolk left in Rose Creek to fill one room.

A familiar redhead stood out among the crowd, seated alone near the opposite wall. Faraday grinned. Right. The menfolk, plus Emma Cullen. There wasn’t much that kept that woman at bay, certainly not mere convention. He hadn’t seen much of her since his recovery either, but that made sense; the woman was trying to work a farm damn near on her own from what he’d heard. He didn’t expect she’d give up on it of her own accord, but circumstances might make that choice for her.

Hank Stoner was at the front of the room, more gray on his chin than on his balding head. The shopkeeper’s apron and shirtsleeves had been traded for a respectable dark suit, and you could just tell he was taking a headcount as people made their way in. Faraday reckoned Stoner would have been mayor of the place, had Rose Creek been big enough to warrant one. As it was, seemed he took most of the responsibility that would have come with post without any associated benefit. And what he didn’t take on got shared with Preacher Murray, who was just parked smilingly at Stoner’s shoulder.

Stoner took in the assembly, locked eyes with Emma a moment, then finished his surveying without a word. The man had more sense than to pick a battle he couldn’t win, Faraday noted, amused. Sometimes he had to wonder if grief and vengeance had sparked that woman’s contrary nature, or if her late husband had somehow had a gentling influence. Truth be told, he had a hard time settling on either option with any certainty.

Stoner cleared his throat. 

“Good evening, good evening. I know some of you have got more distance to travel than others, so I’ll get right down to it. It’s been a hard year, and we’ve had to put off some matters of town business in the face of more urgent issues.” Mutters of agreement from the room. Faraday tamped down on a frown. That was one way of saying every farm and shop in Rose Creek had been scrambling and short-handed, that was for sure.

“But winter’s coming on. That means there’s going to be close quarters, miners in town more often than not, folks getting bored and foolish, and likely travelers wanting to wait out the season here once the worst of the weather kicks in.

“Now, with all that, this town will be in need of someone to keep order. With Sheriff Harp gone…”

“And good riddance!” Jacob Turner, the town blacksmith. From the curses and grumbles agreement that went up after, there wasn’t much fond memory of the late Sheriff Harp. Not surprising, given that the former sheriff had been paid off to let Bogue’s men have full run of the town. Harp had died a coward, and lived longer than he should have, in the estimation of his former neighbors. In Faraday’s experience, most lawmen weren’t much better than the criminals they locked up; Harp had just had less backbone than most.

Stoner motioned for quiet.

“There’s no use in counting off the sins of the dead. We’re here about the concerns of the living. Now there’s two ways we can go about this. I can send word to Sacramento, and the head of county can appoint a town marshal. Or we can elect a sheriff from any man here willing to take up the job.”

Faraday brought up his hand quick as a flash, hiding his laugh in a coughing fit. Oh, he couldn’t deny that these folks were brave in a pinch, when they’d been backed into a corner with nowhere to go. But Christ’s sake, his horse could probably keep the day-to-day peace here as well as any one of them. Sleepy little Rose Creek wasn’t exactly a Kansas cowtown, after all.

He glanced out at the room and caught Emma Cullen glaring his way. For a surreal moment, he was pinned between the desire to dismiss her scorn with a wink and the alien discomfort of actual embarrassment, and found himself unsure of which way to jump.

“Well, I…” Faraday (and, thankfully, Emma’s) attention was drawn to the slight man rising to his feet, holding his hat in both hands. Josiah Thurlow, the teller at the town bank, not-so-affectionately nicknamed “schoolteacher” by Goodnight for his soft-spoken, timid manner. 

Thurlow cleared his throat and started again.

“I’d be willing to stand for the position.” 

“And me.” Jack Phillips stood, gave a nod to Josiah, then went on. “I figure after all we’ve been through this past year, and after how Harp turned out, we’re better off handling matters on our own.”

Hell. This got better and better. Josiah had a kid he hardly ever let out of his sight; even now, the boy, Anthony, was seated at his side, taking in the meeting with interest. And Jack was barely holding his farm together as it was. The idea that they’d be able to keep a lookout on the town while tending to their own business was a damn joke. 

Well, nothing like joining in on a laugh. And a half-deaf, half-exploded sheriff was at least as funny as a banker or a farmer on the job. Faraday pushed away from the wall and straightened up.

“Well, I haven’t been here all that long, but that makes sense. Might as well count me in.” 

The murmur that went through the crowd was satisfying, but all too soon, Stoner was calling for quiet. 

“All right. We have three men willing to take up the position. Gentlemen, we are all appreciative of your civic-mindedness.” Said with a fatherly smile and a nod. “Now, I think we’ve got numbers here for a voice vote. If it’s too close to call, we’ll take a count of hands. Fitting for the surroundings, I’d say.

“All right, then. All in favor of electing Josiah Thurlow to the office of town sheriff?”

The silence was deafening. Faraday shifted in place, unhappy premonition looming over him.

“Jack Phillips?”

Again, silence. Faraday braced himself. Already his mind was turning to a way of breaking the news.

“Joshua Faraday?”

The affirmative shout went up to rafters. Even knowing it was coming, even with his ears as dulled as they were, it was enough to jolt Faraday’s first wisps of a plan back into dust, because, dammit, this was not the sort of sentiment that was supposed to be aimed at _him_. 

“Well, then. I think that’s settled.” Stoner was smiling again. The preacher was smiling. Every man in the crowd had a smile on his face, and Faraday could feel something much like panic clawing at the back of his mind. 

“Mister Faraday? Would you like to say a few words?” Stoner waved him to the front of the room in a motion that reminded Faraday weirdly of his own brief schooling. Of course, no one back then had been smiling, least of all him.

Alright. He could talk his way out of this. He’d been too subtle, that was the problem. He just had to let everyone in on the joke, that was all.

“I reckon I might.” Faraday stepped forward and tried to remind himself that this was a simple town meeting, not a mob. He kept an eye on the exits all the same; wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to make a hurried exit by window. “Well, I guess first step is to say ‘thanks’. I didn’t expect you good people to elect a gun-slinging cardsharp as a lawman.”

Laughter. Shit. 

“And a sheriff needs deputies. I’ve got a few in mind. Teddy Q, for example…”

Agreement and applause. And Teddy, looking bashful and pleased and talking about how he’d do his best. Panic was now very much at the front of Faraday’s mind. 

“...and Ms. Emma Cullen…”

That got a murmur out of the assembled, and Faraday started to relax. They’d get it, come to understand the absurdity of this all. Emma was glaring at him like she meant to send him out of the nearest window himself, but he could deal with that later.

Except that the talk wasn’t turning to laughter. It was assent, some enthusiastic, some not so much. And all eyes were on him as Emma Cullen headed out the door instead of laying his foolishness bare before the assembled.

And while he was casting about for something, anything, to give the game away - hell, maybe he could name his horse deputy next! - Hank Stoner took the sheriff’s badge out of his pocket and pressed it into Faraday’s hand with more words of thanks.

Faraday stared down at the glinting star, trying to generate a thought that didn’t hit the ground face-first on arrival. Didn’t these people know who he was yet? Law enforcement wasn’t his line of work. Hell, half the time he had one foot over on the other side of that line! And he never kept to one place long enough to overstay a welcome, or even generate much of one to start with. It was a goddamned matter survival. 

He needed to toss the damn badge back to Stoner. He needed to tell these people he didn’t want the job, saddle up his horse, and get the hell out of town. Easy enough.

And he couldn’t make himself do it, not even as man after man walked up to offer his congratulations.

He was still trying to articulate his objections when Jack and Josiah walked up to add their congratulations to the rest of the town. Each man smiled as he shook Faraday’s hand.

“I’ve got to confess, you stepping up was something of a relief, Mister Faraday,” Josiah admitted. “I didn’t feel I was quite up to the job, but someone had take it on.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, sir. Just as he said. It had to be done, and I feel we’ve picked the best man for the post. We’ll be glad to have you staying around, Mister Faraday.”

As the last of his admirers walked away, Faraday caught sight of Billy and Goodnight through the thinning crowd, still at the back of the room, and looking too damn pleased with the situation by far. They hadn’t even raised an objection, hadn’t pointed out how absurd the very idea of Faraday wearing a badge was. And their voices might have had some weight! That was the last straw, the point that took him beyond fear of mortality and sent him striding their way.

“You!” Faraday didn’t know which one of the smirking sons-of-bitches he was addressing, but given that they were looking identically insufferable, he didn’t suppose it mattered much. “What the hell is wrong with you? You couldn’t even try to get me out of this?”

Goodnight braced himself on Billy’s arm and rose to his feet.

“Well, Joshua, I don’t see where it would have made much difference. The will of the people has made itself known, and they want you to stay on as sheriff.” Goodnight donned his hat. “But if it helps at all, I abstained from voting. I figure until the last of the paperwork for The Elysium clears, Billy and I don’t have enough of a stake here to properly qualify as citizens.”

Billy dismissed that reasoning with a scoff of contempt. “I voted.”

Goodnight grimaced. “I do apologize, _cher_; that was thoughtless. Of course you should have your say when you can.” 

Billy accepted the apology with a nod; apparently forgiveness for Goodnight came easy enough. 

“All right,” Faraday demanded, “so _you_ tell me - what the hell made you leave me on my own out there?”

He’d half-figured Billy would reach for his knives at his tone, and might have even welcomed a solid fight. But the look Rocks gave him was mild as a spring morning.

“My favorite trickster stories have always been the ones where the fox outwits himself.” And then he grinned like a devil on leave from Hell. He looked like he might have more to say, but something caught his attention. 

Faraday glanced back over his shoulder to see Hank Stoner gesturing toward Goody and Billy… no, just Billy. Huh. He wouldn’t have expected them to have any business together.

“You need me to stay?” Billy asked, attention on Goodnight.

“I’m steady as the foundations of the Earth. You go on.”

And then Faraday was scowling at Billy’s back.

“You want to share why your Chinaman’s got such a burr up his ass about me?” he asked, facing Goodnight again. “Alright, so I was a jackass to you that one time. I saved this whole damn town since then, you two included, and got blown to hell for it. I’d say that makes us even.”

A warm slick of drool slid past his naked teeth where his lip had been torn away. He’d spoken too fast, literally. Faraday swore, which only caused more spit to bubble over. Goodnight had a handkerchief out in an eyeblink. Faraday took it with a grunt of thanks, catching the drip before it could hit his vest.

“Could’a been worse,” he muttered, mopping at his face. “Used to be a real mess at mealtimes.”

“I remember,” Goodnight said, friendly enough. “To answer your question, Joshua, despite your own generous evaluation of your virtues, you are still a jackass. You may be undergoing metamorphosis of a sort, but that primary fact is still very much in evidence. And since Billy helped save your life after all the fuss was done, I doubt he considers the books balanced on that front.”

Goodnight paused to consider. “Truth be told, he might even consider it wasted time.”

“Hold on.” He’d address the insult later. “What d’you mean Billy saved my life?”

“Doc Hinz told me about it while you were still recovering. He needed an assist in getting those bullets out of you.” Goodnight shrugged. “Billy’s got almost as much knowledge of human anatomy, and to hear the doc say it, a better hand with a knife. And he needed something to get his mind off whether or not I was going to pull through, so he lent a hand.”

For the second time in minutes, Josh Faraday was left speechless. The news that Goodnight Robicheaux had shared so casually was somehow the most obscenely intimate and unsettling revelation Faraday’d had since waking up and getting a good look at himself. And, frankly, the knowledge that Billy Rocks, of all people, had been poking about in his innards was too distressing to think on too closely.

All in all, it had been an utter shitshow of an evening, and Faraday reckoned it was time to step out of it and see how quickly he could saddle up his horse and get clear of this place. He took as quick a leave of Goodnight as he could without drooling over himself again, and headed outside. The chill air of the autumn night was welcome after the crowded meeting. Emma Cullen meeting him on the path to the livery, less so.

“So quick to get away from your adoring public, Mister Faraday?”

Faraday bristled at her tone, but confined his irritation to a sarcastic drawl. “Well, you voted for me. Don’t see where you have room to complain. Deputy.”

“I wanted to see if you’d go through with it.” She met his eyes, unwavering and determined as the last time he’d seen her sighting down a rifle barrel. “You might not believe it, Mister Faraday, but I am grateful for what you’ve done for this town. And I won’t deny that Rose Creek owes you more than a seventh share of slim bounty. 

“But the people here sacrificed as much as you have, some more. And they deserve better than to be your entertainment until you get bored enough to leave. The way I figure it, you’re not much use to anyone right now, not even yourself. And either you’ll run from this responsibility, or it’ll make you into something like a man. Either way, Rose Creek will be better off for it.”

Emma kept walking. Faraday reckoned he should have been angry, should have caught up and let her know her opinion didn’t mean half as much as she seemed to think it did. But mostly, he found that he just wanted to lie down. His brains were in such a muddle, he reckoned it’d take another few drinks to get him anywhere near settled enough to sleep, but at least being tired gave him a clear direction to head in.

He caught sight of his face in front window of the feed store as he headed back toward the boarding house. It still didn’t look a thing like him, that scarred-up man who’d spent too much time in one place. Who had a town of people greeting him by name all friendly-like every day. He could have been anyone, even sheriff of a no-account slip of civilization with way too many dead to its name.

Faraday turned away and kept his course toward bed. Well, if nothing else, it was a job. And if he didn’t like it, he could always head out and leave them to elect a new sheriff come spring. Wasn't like he was staying here forever, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Illustration by LyttaV @ Twitter.


End file.
